It Looks Like This (17 page)

He says, Maybe you did it for the attention?

I look up at him and think about the kids he normally sees in his office, kids who get in fights all the time, kids he knows by name. How he probably thinks I’m like them.

He looks tired and annoyed.

He waits for me to say something, and when I don’t, he says,

Well, let’s just call your dad and see what he thinks.

And he reaches for the phone.

I miss all of English. It doesn’t matter that much because we already had our exam.

I get to Algebra five minutes after the bell rings. Mr. Gardings looks up when I walk in. He looks kind of irritated until I hand him the office slip.

He reads it over, fingering his right suspender strap, then looks up at me. I read the slip on the way to class and I know it doesn’t go into detail or anything, but Mr. Gardings will be able to tell that I got in trouble.

But he doesn’t say anything, just looks curiously at me through his thick glasses for a moment before he hands me a test and gestures to my desk.

I work through it slowly and finish right before class ends.

Algebra isn’t my best subject. But I do okay.

I’m tired when I get to French. I’ve walked slower than usual so almost everyone’s there already. They’re all chattering away.

It’s the last period of the last day before Christmas vacation and there’s no test. The thought cheers me up a little. Just as Sean turns around and sees me and smiles.

He says, Hey,

as I walk to my seat.

I say, Hey.

I sit down heavily in my desk and turn around.

I say, I called Mr. Kilgore a dick.

Sean raises his eyebrows. There’s a second or two where he just stares at me like that, and then he grins wide and his eyes light up and he says,

Well, holy shit. Really?

I nod.

He laughs and says, Are you in trouble?

I think about the phone call to Dad. Mr. Whitman didn’t take his eyes off me while they talked. I couldn’t hear what Dad was saying but I can guess what’s coming.

I say, I will be.

We hand in our magazines, and Madame Girard makes us all take a couple minutes to show the class what we did.

After about twenty minutes of this, she lets us talk quietly for the rest of the period. Everyone’s excited about the break.

Through the windows we can see the few icicles left on the trees slowly melting, dripping onto the grass and sidewalk below.

When class ends, Sean and I leave together. He stops at the end of the hallway because his locker is in another direction.

He says, So let’s hang out during the break. We get back from Boston the day after Christmas.

I say, Sure, that’d be cool.

He says, And then we can do something for your birthday. Maybe you can come over or something.

I nod and smile.

He smiles back.

Then he turns around and walks toward his locker.

And I walk toward mine.

It’s too cold to walk Toby home so I take the bus. She has her own bus that she’ll take.

The ride home is bouncy and loud and full of kids who can’t wait to start their vacations.

I sit near the back, thinking about the next two weeks. Thinking about my birthday.

The kid sitting next to me is some sophomore who lives a couple blocks away. I’ve seen him a few times but I don’t really know him. I think his name is Brendan.

We don’t talk.

I get off at my street. My house is pretty close to the stop. I’m still thinking about my birthday when I open the door.

Dad is sitting at the dining room table. He looks up.

He says, What in the world is wrong with you?

I stare. His words cut through the air, surprising me.

He shouts, Answer me!

I mutter something. Probably: I don’t know.

Dad’s hands are balled into fists, resting on the table.

He taps one foot really fast. I can barely hear the soft
pat pat pat
against the carpet.

He says, That was one hell of a stunt you pulled today.

I don’t know what to say. I never know what to say.

He stares for a few moments longer. I’m starting to sweat under my jacket. The heater’s turned up high. Mom’s doing.

Then he says, You’re grounded. For the break.

I say, I’m —

He says, For the whole break, Mike. Until school starts again.

I open my mouth to say something, then close it. Then open it again.

I say, My birthday’s on New Year’s Eve!

He shouts, Then you should’ve thought about that before you disrespected your teacher!

I’m breathing deeply through my nose. I’m thinking about Sean.

I say, This sucks.

Dad shouts again. You’re goddamn right this sucks! And now maybe you won’t act like a goddamn brat!

I stare at him. My hands are shaking.

Quietly this time, he says, Go to your room.

I do.

That night we go to Toby’s school for her choir’s holiday concert.

Mom and Dad let me go because they don’t realize I want to, and they think I should support my sister. But I’ve always supported my sister.

Dad seems annoyed that they’re calling it a holiday concert instead of a Christmas concert. But Toby points out that one of their songs is about Hanukkah.

Dad taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. I see his eyebrows scrunch together in the rearview mirror.

He says, There are songs about Hanukkah?

Toby rolls her eyes and says, Yes, Dad. Jews like to sing too.

Dad considers this for a minute and then kind of shrugs. He says, Okeydokey.

The holiday concert is actually a big combined concert with both the choir and the band, so there are a million people there already when we pull in. But we’re still early.

Toby runs off to join her choir as we walk in. The side entrance to the school opens almost right into the cafeteria, which has been set up with stepped platforms for the band and choir. Folding chairs sit in rows in the rest of the cafeteria for the audience. There are hundreds of people walking around, talking, laughing, hugging. Three sixth-graders walk by with tubas bigger than they are. Mrs. Deringer tries to herd her students together in one corner. She has the same huge bright smile she did the last time I saw her.

We find seats toward the right, closer to the choir side, Mom between me and Dad to give us a buffer from each other. We sit and wait for the show to start. I look around and watch the chaos.

But I’m thinking about my birthday and Sean. I’m thinking about the message I have to send him later.

The last song to play is “Silent Night,” my favorite. It’s a pure, slow version that starts quiet, swells, becomes intense and powerful without ever picking up speed, choir and band alternating at times, then together at the end. I close my eyes and imagine the music as something physical, as wind, as something swirling in the air above me, around me, through my hair. I love it.

The Hanukkah song was “Rock of Ages.” It wasn’t bad.

Mom tells me to go get Toby after it’s over.

I find her near the corner of the cafeteria, half in the entrance to the choir room. Her back is to me and she’s talking to some other kids in the room I can’t see.

She turns right as I reach her. I ruffle her hair and say,

Time to go home, kiddo.

She giggles and says, It’s Toby, you dick.

Her classmates gasp and then giggle too, which makes her grin.

She says, Let’s go.

My room is quiet and still. Even with Charlie.

He’s sitting near the edge of the bed, staring up at me, wagging his tail but being so quiet, waiting for me to do or say something.

I’m sitting on the bed, staring at nothing.

There’s my window, closed but with the curtains open. Still bright outside. Neighbor across the street taking the trash out.

There’s my dresser, junk covering it.

My wall, light blue, covered with star charts and random drawings.

My door, solid white, closed. A couple old
FoxTrot
comics taped to it.

My computer desk. Junk all over it like the dresser, but pushed to the side to make room for the computer.

I stare at the blank screen, then get up and walk over to the desk. Charlie follows, tail wagging harder now that I’m doing something. He puts one paw on my lap when I sit down, and I pet him without looking at him.

I move the mouse and the screen wakes up. I log on to Facebook and find Sean and click on Message.

Then I stare at the screen for a while longer. Charlie whines a bit.

Finally I type,

Grounded for the break. Can’t hang out till after New Year’s. See you at school I guess.

I look at the words. More silence. Then I hit Send.

It’s cold every day now. It doesn’t always freeze, but most mornings there are small icicles hanging on our tree in the front.

Dad still lets me walk Charlie, mostly because he doesn’t want to. That’s the only time I’m allowed outside the house.

Charlie shivers and doesn’t like to be outside as long, but he still runs around enough that he keeps warm.

It’s windy, usually. I have a hat and scarf and jacket, but my face gets flushed and cold-burned. I like the feeling. I like leaning against the wind and letting it rush all around me and barely being able to see.

Sometimes I take Charlie all the way to the ocean. We stand there and watch it, watch the waves crashing in, rough now with the wind. The beach is deserted and gray and still.

Then we walk back.

I never see Sean on these walks.

Dad is sitting in the dining room, typing on his laptop. Probably something for work. His reading glasses are close to the edge of his nose. They make him look old and tired.

I walk up to him, and he looks up from his laptop.

I say, I need to get Christmas presents. Can I go to the mall?

He looks at me for a bit and says, For Toby?

I say, For everyone.

He nods and then says, All right, that’s fine. See if your mother can take you, though. I’m a bit busy.

Mom fidgets even when she drives. She looks like she wants to say something, wants to talk, but every attempt looks like it hurts her.

She says, Do you know what you’re getting Toby?

I say, Not really.

And she winces a bit, as if not sure how to respond.

I have forty-five dollars saved up from allowances and odd jobs I’ve been able to do, like weeding Mrs. Gunther’s garden.

It sucks being fourteen and having no money.

I tell Mom I’m going to get her present first. She tells me I don’t have to get her anything, like she always says. I tell her I’m going to no matter what, so she goes off to one of the department stores while I walk into Hartford Books.

It’s a small store and it doesn’t take long to browse through the whole thing. Some employee asks if he can help me find anything, and when I say I’m just looking, he nods but follows me anyway. Probably thinks I’m going to try to steal something. But I mean if a kid was going to shoplift, he’d probably go to a video game store or something, right? Not a bookstore. Whatever.

I think about getting her a
Garfield
book since I know she likes it, but then figure that’s kind of lame. Then I see their religion section.

They have a bunch of Christian theology books and then a small section of Bibles. I look at these, and pretty soon I see a big navy one with gold lettering and a velvet green page marker.

Mom has tons of Bibles but none this nice. I look at the back and it’s twenty-five bucks. Kind of a lot.

But Mom will love it.

I don’t let her see the bag when we meet up. She follows me into a music store to look for Dad’s present.

Dad loves classic rock but already has a million albums on iTunes. But then Mom points to a section of vinyl.

She says, I’m going to get your father a record player, because he’s said he misses his old one. Why don’t you get him some records to start his collection?

This is actually a pretty good idea, so I look over at their vinyl section. The records are really cheap, like five bucks. I pick out two: Kansas and The Who.

All that’s left is Toby’s present. I was telling the truth when I told Mom I didn’t know what I was going to get her. I have about ten bucks left, and as we walk through the crowded mall, I look left and right at the stores for inspiration. But I can’t imagine her wanting anything from any of these places.

Then we pass by an art store. I love this store. Sometimes I go there to get drawing supplies. And suddenly I get an idea.

Mom’s eyebrows draw together when I lead her into the store, but she doesn’t say anything.

I already have a bunch of supplies, so I only end up picking out a small canvas and a couple tiny tubes of paint. Still, it comes out to like fifteen bucks.

I look at Mom.

I say, I’ll pay you back. I promise.

She still looks unsure, but takes out some bills and pays the cashier the difference.

She says, Don’t tell your father.

I don’t have much to do when we get home, so I get some wrapping paper and tape and scissors and old newspapers and go upstairs with my stuff and close the door.